The letter
by crazyjadejones
Summary: Sherlock has appeared emotionless for so long that John is shocked to see him cry after a difficult case. Together they will discover the meaning of friendship and love as they experience both the good and bad times with each other.
1. Chapter 1

A/N – Hi everyone, thanks for taking the time to read my Johnlock fanfiction. This is the first time I've written for this pairing and any mistakes are my own. Please leave a comments as to whether you have enjoyed it, or if you have any ideas for improvements.

Sherlock

A cold wind whipped at the scarf tied around my neck as if trying to claim it for its own. Tucking it into my coat in order to secure it I strode through the door and out onto the street. This city was my home. I hadn't chosen to live here, it felt at times, more like it had chosen me. It had sucked me in with claims of being brilliant and forward thinking, lulling me into a false sense of security before trapping me here and revealing the boring average side of itself. I could move away, there was nothing stopping me from moving somewhere else, except a sense of duty to the boring, simple minded people I had promised myself I would protect. I may appear cold and aloof on the outside, many people choosing to avoid me than spend a moment more than necessary in my presence, but the few who I let in, who I let see the real me understand the ferocity of my loyalty and the lengths at which I would go to in order to protect those deemed valuable to me.

Not many people see that side to me, and those that do often remark how weird it is that I chose to hide that side from others. Not many understand why I have chosen to shut off from the world almost completely. There are only 2 people alive today who know why I have, to all appearances, turned my emotions off, and 1 of them seems determined to attempt to change that. Making a mental note to try and stop that happening I tried to clear my head from all the emotions clouding it. It had been happening a lot recently, boring and useless emotions infecting my thoughts. I first noticed it a few months ago but thought it was due to my transport body needing to release tension so I brushed it off. I had to focus. This case is important, a life or death situation with a child's life on the line and the last thing I need is to not be thinking clearly.

A hand on my back sent shivers down my spine. It was John, his eyes scanning me, checking for any sign that there was something wrong. Having found nothing out of the ordinary he went back to focusing on the crime scene and I was once again left alone with my thoughts. This case had to be solved soon or the child would die and paperwork would have to be filled out. So much boring paperwork came with these cases, and John was still annoyed at me over the hand in the saucepan debacle so he would be unlikely to fill the forms in for me. Turning back to the crime scene I did my best to focus before everything was lost.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock

The case had pushed me almost to my limit. It wasn't difficult to solve but Anderson and his stupid lack of anything resembling a brain had caused the criminal to be let free. He had moved some of the evidence in the scene and as such all of my deductions were deemed inaccurate. The offender was caught again as he pulled the trigger taking the life of the 6 year old we had fought so hard to save. If it wasn't for John, I would have slipped something in Anderson's drink and left him vomiting all over the pavement. Instead I found myself in a taxi back to Baker street with John demanding that I at least tried to sleep.

Walking into my room I had to accept the boring necessity of sleep but when I sat on my bed I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Trying my hardest to fight them, to stop this sign of weakness from showing, I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands, hard enough to draw blood. Realising the futility of the battle I allowed the tears to fall silently down my cheeks. Despite what people think I do have feelings, I am just not as open to showing them as other people. Fear and sadness cloud the mind and prevent logic and reasoning from being in charge. Feeling a little better I lay down in bed and waited for the tears to stop falling and my guard to once again go back up.

John

I knew Sherlock had emotions and felt things deeply, despite what he wanted people to think, but I also knew how tight the control he had on them was. That's why it had been such a shock when I'd opened his bedroom door to speak to him and found him sobbing, having finally given into them. I wanted to rush over and cradle him in my arms, soothing him and reminding him that I would always be here and that everything would be ok. My heart was pulling me into the room, when logic took over and I stopped. Sherlock was such a private person and the fact he felt comfortable enough to cry wasn't something to take for granted. He hadn't noticed me and so I slipped from his room and silently climbed the stairs to my room, texting Lestrade and Mycroft that they weren't to disturb him for the rest of the day.

Alone in my room I began to wonder how I could help the consulting detective. It couldn't be anything flashy because he would become uncomfortable, but then again it couldn't be anything too subtle because he would never realise what it was meant to mean. It was a conundrum that needed to be solved and sooner rather than later.

I must have sat there for half an hour before the solution came to me. I would write a letter. It was the perfect idea. There was no way even Sherlock could miss that but it also allowed him to read it at his own pace, preventing his brain from being overwhelmed with emotional words. Once I had set my mine on this plan I got up and began trying to formulate what exactly to write. Every now and then I stopped and just listened, hoping to hear some movement from below, letting me know that Sherlock was feeling better but the flat was silent. I sat down and finally began putting my words on paper, hoping that this would reassure the genius that I was here to stay. Having finished the letter I placed it in my secret draw, where I placed anything I wanted Sherlock to see, and headed out of the house to fetch some takeaway and a few groceries for the rest of the week, hoping that by the time I got back Sherlock would have found the letter.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock

I knew something was up when John came back downstairs. Emotions may not be my forte but I could sense something was different about him. Although I had been crying some part of my brain had registered him entering my bedroom. Something about having him within close proximity had made me feel better. He always brought a sense of calm and peace to any room when he entered it. I knew he would be uncomfortable around someone crying, especially me, and so I had expected the prompt removal of himself from the situation. However, it surprised me when he came down after 53.527 minutes and left the flat without a word. What intrigued me the most was the guilty look on his face as he left. He was hiding something and, I don't know whether it was because of my recent burst of emotions, or not, I was unable to deduce anything about it. Whatever the reason for my lack of deductions, John was still a mystery and one that I wanted to solve.

Having checked that he had really left the flat and wasn't just setting a trap I silently climbed the stairs and slipped through the partially open door. Making a mental note to remind John that we do dangerous work and thus the highest level of security should be observed, I wandered over to his bed. His "secret spot" where he kept everything he didn't want me to see was a drawer built into the bottom of his bed. I shook my head. I had always thought that John was different, that he was clever but the longer he placed things in the drawer blind to the fact I knew it was there, the more I questioned his intelligence.

As I reached down and pulled open the drawer a feeling of guilt hit me. I knew this was not good, and I knew John would be disappointed in me. The thought of the look he would give me when he found out was almost enough to make me stop and go back downstairs, but I knew that if I left it not knowing would be worse than any look John could give me. I pulled the drawer out and paused. There was nothing in it except a letter. It was addressed to me! Picking it up I wondered what John was playing at. It was times like this when I hated not knowing more about John. It didn't seem to matter how much I deduced about him, there was always more hidden beneath the surface that I couldn't grasp at.

Since the letter was addressed to me I figured it meant John would have wanted me to read it at some point and surely there was no harm in me just reading it a little earlier than intended. I turned it over and noticed that John hadn't sealed the envelope it was in, which made it even easier for me to read it and put it back without him knowing. Feeling a little weird I removed the letter from it's envelope and began to read.


	4. Chapter 4

John

I had hoped by leaving the flat without speaking to Sherlock he would be curious as to what I was doing and search my room, thus finding the letter. What I hadn't managed to calculate was how long it would take him to get curious enough. Some days it would have been hours before he stirred from his seat and meandered upstairs. Other days he wouldn't have even waited for me to get out the front door before having thrown my entire room into chaos.

Based on his emotional state I figured it would take him a while before it registered in his mind palace that I was gone. I spent a peaceful afternoon walking round London, taking in all the sights before it got too dark and cold to be enjoyable. I knew I was putting off the inevitable but it didn't make the walk home any easier.

I knew by the look on his face as I walked in that he had read the letter. I had to fight to keep a smirk from crossing my face. He wasn't supposed to know that this was all planned. I wandered over to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Now it was a waiting game. Sherlock wouldn't understand what was going on, and that would be killing him. Although I didn't want to see him suffer it would be better for him to come to me and ask, rather than me forcing him to talk.

The kettle whistled and I made two cups of tea. Placing one in front of Sherlock I sat in my chair, grabbed my laptop and began adding to my online diary. It was the one thing I had kept doing that my therapist had suggested when I was first discharged from the army. It had felt stupid doing it, until I had become Sherlock's roommate. Maybe it's because until Sherlock I had nothing to talk about. I realised it as I was writing, that he had brought so much chaos into my life but also so much joy. My ordinary, and if I admit, boring life had been turned upside down and I had been thrust into a world of action.

While keeping one eye on Sherlock I typed up my entry for the day before having a quick look at the news. It was the same stuff that had dominated the front page for weeks and I wasn't really concentrating on it as I scrolled through the destruction that had happened in the last 24 hours.

I must have nodded off because the next thing I knew I was startled awake by a crash of thunder overhead. It was dark in the flat and a blanket had been placed over my lap. Taking a moment to gather my thoughts I stood up and climbed the stairs to my room, the sound of thunder echoing behind me. Expecting to just flop into bed I got an almighty shock when I saw Sherlock curled up under my duvet. Not feeling up to being mad I grabbed a spare blanket and went back downstairs to sleep on the settee. It was going to be a long night but if it meant Sherlock got a decent night's sleep then it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.


End file.
